More Than This
by TomatoBomb
Summary: He felt guilty about their relationship now. He was distancing himself from her and they both knew it. Pre509 Mea Culpa, CatherineGrissom
1. Waiting For a Sign

** MORE THAN THIS**  
Part 01: "Waiting For a Sign"

by Mickie; 05.01.29

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The bluish crime lab was a rain-cloud, brewing a storm and casting a grey atmosphere over everything; everyone in the building seemed on edge, off, and generally mischievous. Grissom immediately thought of the theory that full moons turn human behaviour to the weird and the moon, in fact, was full tonight. To him, there was nothing better than being in the middle of a living scientific experiment.

"Hey, boss, assignments?" Catherine disturbed his quiet pondering by barging into his office and knocking loudly as an afterthought.

"Just getting to it, my dear," he responded sardonically.

Warrick, Nick, and Sara were already waiting in the break room for their assignments, all looking down at their paper cups of coffee, stirring away with those little sticks. The walls were glass and through them, one could normally hear and see the chatter of science at work… but not tonight. It being the night before Halloween and all, Las Vegas was working with a skeleton crew. Only the processing whirr of numerous machines kept the workaholics that remained company.

"Okay, it's a busy night." Grissom walked in, flipping crime reports, and the coffee stirrers snapped to attention. "Nick, DB on the Strip…"

"Sweet," he grabbed the assignment sheet and left.

"Warrick, Summerlin, also a DB."

"Cool," he left towards the parking lot.

"And Sara, you have a 419 at the Sphere."

"Right on it," she drank the last of her coffee and left the room.

As the younger CSIs disappeared and Grissom remained stoically silent, Catherine Willows became anxious. This, being a rare event, made her even more anxious because she just knew Grissom would save a really juicy case for her and then be evil enough to flaunt it by pretending to shuffle papers.

After a beat, she asked: "Gil, what's for me?"

He turned his gaze from the papers and met hers with the look of a deer in the headlights of a semi-truck. "Whatever do you mean?" he replied innocently.

"Gil, arrrgh," Catherine leapt from her chair and walked pleadingly over to him. "Come on!"

"Oh, you meant what case do I have for you tonight?" Grissom singled out a specific crime report without looking away from her and waved it tantalizingly between them.

Catherine smiled, but only a bit, at his little game. She knew he was expecting her to snatch it away from him and read it at once. But, she was glad he was in such a good mood, lately he'd been too reserved for her liking, so she walked past him to the coffee machine and poured a cup. This, expectantly, had stunned him and he momentarily faltered.

"Don't you want to take a look at it?" he pressed, not quite so confident.

"Of course, but I just got here for crying out loud!" she stated mock-exasperatedly, "Let me get awake first," she leaned against the counter and casually sipped the bitter coffee, trying to hide the fact that it was burning her tongue.

For the slightest moment, his eyes sparkled and his mouth turned upwards at her performance but both were soon replaced with a quiet sigh and the look of a burnt-out man. This worried Catherine, but she would ask him about it later. Always later. Now was the time to get to work.

"Alright, give it to me," she said dejectedly and walked back over to him, standing where she knew was the slightest bit too close for him. He fidgeted and handed her the case without question.

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Grissom glanced out the passenger window at the dark streets as Catherine drove them to the scene. He heard her mutter obscenities under her breath as a pick-up truck cut them off. Rain poured down in waves and traffic was horrendous, everyone just wanting to get home. Grissom was thankful that Catherine was too preoccupied with getting them there to notice his brooding. Staring out at the rainy streets and the people rushing to get out of them, he thought about the only thing he had been thinking about for awhile – her.

Time seemed to be nonexistent and motion slowed. Catherine was navigating through a sea of cars when he turned to look at her. He felt guilty about their relationship now. He was distancing himself from her and they both knew it.

If he told her, would he lose her? The first time that thought struck his mind, he had stopped breathing for a few seconds. Now, it just depressed him. She might run off to Miami, away from him and towards that insufferable Horatio. His blood boiled at the thought of him. If she didn't physically run away, they'd still be different. Everything would be.

He'd lose her.

"Hey, you got it all figured out already?" A quirky tone snapped him back to reality. Somehow, they'd arrived already and Catherine was standing outside in the cold by his door, field kit in hand and jacket zipped up to her face which, despite her obvious resentment of the weather, contained a playful smile.

He hid the dark thoughts away for later. "Yes, can we go now?" Grissom gave her a small smile and got out of the Tahoe, following his best friend into hell.

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Catherine and Grissom entered the suburban home that was now their scene. Cops were standing near the door, talking to neighbours and writing on little notepads. Officers carried out two stretchers, each with a black body bag lumped on top. Then everyone was gone and the house became almost eerie. Catherine was glad she wasn't working this one alone; it already gave her the creeps.

"Husband and wife, throats cut. The wife was found in the bedroom and the husband's body was in the living room here," Grissom pointed to a pool of blood not far away on the beige carpet.

"I'll take the bedroom," Catherine said and walked down the hall of the comfortable, one-level house.

Grissom was already at work in the living room, taking a swab of the blood before photographing it and the corresponding splatter on the crème wall. He paused for a second and looked around. A sparkling object on the floor caught his eye. He picked it up; it was a diamond from what he could tell. Interesting. He bagged it.

"Hey, Gil, are you sure the wife was found in here?" Catherine called from the bedroom at the back of the small house.

"Yeah, Cath, it says right here," he yelled back. She didn't reply. "Cath?"

"Come here." He barely heard her.

Grissom walked in to find Catherine shining a flashlight over a cluttered desk in the corner of the room. Upon noticing his presence, she turned and her expression had him instantly intrigued. From the doorframe, he flicked the light-switch beside him and received nothing but a scowl from Catherine.

"You don't think I tried that?" she lifted an eyebrow mockingly.

"So what's this 'come here' business?" Grissom asked, taking out his own flashlight.

"Come here and find out," she replied. He did and Catherine handed him a type-written letter. He took it with gloved hands and read aloud.

"Dear Mr. Benjamin,  
We regret to inform you that the tests run came back positive. Please call my office in a timely manner to arrange treatment.

Sincerely,  
Dr. Burns."

Catherine was staring at him, most of her cheerful disposition replaced with curiosity. Whatever cheer he had conjured up since stepping out of the Tahoe had dissipated as well.

"Gil, it's postmarked today." If he didn't know better, he would say Catherine Willows was actually stalling.

"And..." Grissom prompted.

"This is weird," she replied with such earnest that Grissom could not say he didn't feel the same way.

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Back at the lab, the resident DNA processor, Greg Sanders, was swamped. Las Vegas is a freaky town and Halloween is the freakiest day of the year, as is the night before. Needless to say, he was up to his spiked hair in work. And he loved it, mostly because he had a passion for his job, and partly because he was processing Catherine's evidence tonight, which of course means she would have to stop by and check on him.

As if summoned by a divine spirit, he spied her coming towards him down the hall. Greg quickly made his desk presentable.

"Hey Greg, got anything for me yet?" she rested her hands on his desk.

"Uhh hey, Cath, I have the results of Grissom's evidence," he sat up and shuffled through his truly organized desk, "The supposed diamond is, in fact, a diamond and a very nice one at that. Computer says the grade is very good and it most likely came from a mine in Canada, probably the Yukon."

Catherine took the computer printout and read it herself. "Nifty," she replied.

"Yeah, I have this cousin who went up there on a spiritual journey, you know, the kind where you find gold. Anyway, he got a job as a mine guard. They pay you for that kinda stuff in Canada!" Greg gestured with his hands a lot, and Catherine raised her eyebrows and smiled in faked interest. "He said it was pretty fun, but really cold. Oh yeah, and he almost got attacked by a bison once!"

"Uh-huh, yeah, well what about the blood in the living room?" Catherine tentatively brought the loveable geek back to Earth.

"Oh, right. I was getting to that, you know, as part of the Canada story," he cleared his throat and leapt out of his chair to tend to his precious humming scientific machines. "As I was saying, my cousin was attacked by a bison. He didn't die, but should have. His jugular was partly severed by one of the bison's teeth." And with that, Greg whirled around and surprised Catherine with a printout of the blood tests.

She scanned it. "Human saliva in the blood?"

"A big juicy glob of it! Whoever killed this guy does not have very good table manners," Greg beamed.

Catherine looked disgusted, thanked Greg for his insight, and left him in his processing utopia.

As she mulled over Greg's colourful commentary, she absently walked towards Grissom's office. She should probably fill him in on this. No, she should. With a sigh, Catherine dismissed her disillusioned thoughts and headed for the only place they talked now.

------------------end (of part 01).


	2. A Promise of What Is

**MORE THAN THIS**  
Part 02: "A Promise of What Is"

by Mickie 05.01.29

* * *

&

Grissom, being characteristically lost in thought, never noticed when Catherine entered his dark office. He was usually rapt with an experiment, carefully recording every reaction. She would sneak up behind him and whisper his name, causing him to jump. He would then always devote his full attention to her, forgetting his experiments.

That was before either of them died.

Now, she would stand in the doorframe and report her news without jest or tease and he would listen, but his eyes were on science. He would acknowledge her when they crossed paths, and she would lift her mouth a little in reply. As of late, he hadn't been working cases with her instead preferring to work alone or with Warrick.

They knew each others numbers by heart but didn't call anymore. Knew where to eat and when to meet but they never did anymore. Catherine wondered if Grissom even cared now or if he secretly felt the same as her.

No, that's impossible.

"Hey, about the blood, Greg found human saliva in the sample you took and related it to a story of when bison attack. Basically, someone gnawed the guy to death," Catherine prattled off to Grissom who was, of course, working at his experiment desk against the wall of his office, in the dark.

Catherine was about to repeat herself when he quietly replied, "Good."

"Just thought you'd like to know, it being our case and all," she turned sharply and headed for the break room, more specifically the coffee machine.

It was the first time in weeks that he had assigned her to work with him and she couldn't believe that he wasn't a tad more enthusiastic about the latest development in their murder investigation. The victim was found to be gnawed to death by some crazed psychopath; it should be front page news and he didn't even raise an eyebrow, not that she would know if he did. It's always too dark to tell.

Catherine felt like one of those cheese sticks she was always packing Lindsey with her lunch, the kind that peel away and unravel with ease. Her life was like that now, without him. When had she become so dependant on him? No, she realized, not dependant, just in love. She wasn't afraid to admit it now, at least to herself.

Lots of things have changed since she died.

The familiar sight of beautiful dead things in glass jars and butterflies nailed in cases did not comfort him as it used to. His office was not a sanctuary any longer; it was a hiding place and not a very good one at that.

She would always find him and he would go through the same awkward dance with her, pretending that nothing was the matter and if anything was, he'd know how to fix it because he's Gil Grissom, her best friend. So of course he would know everything.

He sank down into the absorbing desk chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. One of his annual, weekly now, migraines was coming on. He'd been in love with her for years, why was it so hard to ignore now? He didn't want to ponder it tonight.

Instead, he travelled the halls until he saw her at the break room table, a coffee in her hands and her eyes staring the other way, unmoving. Surely it would be alright to put his hand on his friend's shoulder to snap her out of it. But she was ahead of him, snapping back from wherever she had gone before he was a metre away. He took the seat beside her as if that had been his plan all along.

"Why?" Catherine turned to him and asked simply.

He knew what she meant of course. Why are you hurting me? Why are you shutting me out? Why are you so pig-headed that you can't see what you're doing to me? Why are you doing this? A million questions fought for supremacy of his brain.

"I, um," he stammered, partly hoping the world would swallow him whole and partly wishing it didn't so he could just tell her. Hoping and wishing seemed to be his forte lately.

To his surprise, Catherine immediately paled after her question, seemingly as surprised as him that she said it. She knew that he knew and he knew that she knew that he knew. Their lives were entwined in a circle just like that and neither one of them had the gall or the inclination to break free. She didn't want to break free and neither did he, so they kept spinning. They both knew one day it would have to stop, that they would have to makeup or breakup, and neither wanted to start it. Not today, they tell themselves.

_Not right now_, Catherine's brain screamed. "I have to check in at Trace… the doctor's letter from earlier," she quickly exited the room and left Grissom, still sitting at the break table, in a state of shock… but also curiosity.

"Why would she get so flustered all of a sudden?" he mused aloud, then glanced hurriedly over his shoulder to make sure no one was around to hear that. _Oh, stop being so paranoid_, the persistent voice in his head admonished. _That's not why_, it reinforced. Grissom swept his hopeful thoughts aside and resigned himself to another day of spinning. _Just for right now_, he told himself.

-end (of part two.)


End file.
